Oversight
by Miss Savvy
Summary: The realization of what Hannibal has been doing strikes Will, and then Hannibal strikes back. This is a one-shot, a bit depressing and is slightly influenced by episode 1x10. [Regret carries no explicit admission that one is responsible for an incident. Remorse implies a sense of guilty responsibility and a greater feeling of personal pain and anguish]


The accusation wasn't articulate. It wasn't thought out. It was simply a quiet sputter of sudden realization and he felt the chords of his throat strain with weakness when he spoke.

"_You_. It's – "

As the words left his tongue he knew he would be turning to face someone else. It wouldn't be the psychiatrist he had been speaking with so casually just moments before. It wouldn't be the elegant persona he seemed to exude most particularly in the presence of his refined peers. And it certainly wouldn't be the only person who he'd ever come to trust.

Those were all lies. He was a stranger.

Will Graham was lost to a flash of red light. It took the form of a serrated blade slicing through his flesh. It burned at first, but it was the rush of cold that followed soon after that was overwhelming. Will's form shook in the arms of his captor but he could not regain any warmth. Fingers twitched and trembled against the arms of a tailored suit – a stiff, pressed and carefully constructed veil sheltering a monster within.

He couldn't allow himself to seek comfort in the foreign grasp.

Blinking lids went rapid and the eye contact he had stolen out of desperation was that of an unsettling stare that gave away all of what Hannibal Lecter truly was in the matter of a moment. Dark spheres of the man he had believed to be his friend seemed to glint with crimson. The rich color was a facet of his features Will couldn't remember having ever seen before. He felt guilt for never noticing. He should have been looking. He shouldn't have feared the distraction.

Perhaps if he had looked Hannibal wouldn't have eluded him.

Will felt the churn of his stomach resist against the knife lodged into his abdomen, and the inexpressive gaze of the man whose broad hands simultaneously clutched at the handle of the blade and held steady the waist of his victim felt horrendously heavy upon him. The young agent shuddered, tearing his vision away. Eyes fell shut when he felt he was falling – the careful and precise grip of death lowering him to the hardwood floor. The firm coolness met his back invoking an involuntary whimper that only escalated when the sharp bit of metal was pulled from him. Hannibal attempted to quiet him, his shushing a gentle coo in the back of Will's mind.

"You must understand. I apologize for this. It is truly a shame."

Will doesn't open his eyes. Nor does he note the taut swallow of the looming figure before him, wanting nothing more than to block out the malicious purr cloaked in what he finds to be false sincerity. It can't be anything more.

Despite the feeling of a haze falling over him, he still senses the presence of a form above his own – and he knows he has been stung, caught, _trapped_.

"Will."

Shivers incite him when his name is caressed by a carnivorous tongue; a softly spoken sentiment. It is strangely intimate. The calmness of the accented tone induces a quiver from the fallen, younger man. It perplexes him because it cannot be like this. Not when he has already been slayed.

His breathing hitches when he feels the trace of fingers sweep across the plane of his jaw. They are slightly wet and tinged with an onyx shade of blood. He swallows, willing the lids of his eyes to press together more firmly as his empathetic mind conjures a picture of what is happening and how his predator views him. Will cannot shut it off. His sight transcends through the design of his counterpart, who is sentimental and artistic as he paints at the trembling protrusion of his agent's jaw with the crimson color.

"You have a brilliant mind. I admire how avidly it works - even now."

The steam of hot breath laces his cheek, sending swirling tendrils of smoke to rest at the side of his neck. An affectionate, but severe and fear-inducing action; the corners of his eyes are pricked with wetness and his teeth clench before he finds an injured voice.

"Is that what… you're going to… _to _– "

Hannibal tilts his head slightly, taking in the strained lines plaguing the forehead of the man below him, and his lips purse before granting him his inaudible word.

"Eat?"

Will's eyes cautiously open. He blinks when Hannibal drags the brush of his thumb across a trembling lower lip. It lingers there for a moment as he presses against the soft, pink flesh.

"Do you imagine I would feast upon you, Will?"

The paling agent shakes his weary head as the etchings of betrayal flicker through his mind and his words are bent with accusation as he sputters out a response.

"It's what you _do_."

Hannibal's frown was slight, allowing his hand to cup the side of Will's tense cheek and draw his face closer to the silent agent. The spark of uncertainty was more than apparent in the younger man's expression as he struggled to remain perfectly still.

"I consume my victims. Rest assured you are not my victim. You are worth so much more to me."

Hannibal dipped his head, sweeping his tongue across the blood tainted mouth of Will Graham in an agonizingly slow motion before fully capturing the coaxed lips with his own. Will remained motionless with a bitter mixture of confusion and swelling pain until the lips upon his mouth began to prod him; the sharp foreign canines snagged the flesh of his lower lip hard enough to draw another droplet of blood inciting a raw, breathless gasp.

Hannibal spoke against his flesh, nipping at him; refusing to part fully from the ravenous kiss.

"I will savor you, my dear Will."

He knew this sentiment would be quelled; whatever slight of pleasure Hannibal could take would be just as well shrouded with pain. His world was spinning - colors becoming clouded – only the sensation of the cultured voice of the good doctor whispering darkly against his lips seemed to retain any sort of clarity.

"Ha–Hannibal… you're supposed to be my _friend_."

He paused, withdrawing his attention from the younger man's parted lips in order to pull back and examine his features more fully. Fingers grazed his forehead where beads of sweat had collected in order to push back the strands of unruly bangs that laid there. He could better see the intensity of Will Graham's stare.

Hannibal was silent as he observed him; a dull ache tore at him.

"I am your friend. I care for you genuinely."

"Then… _stop_."

The dark eyes of Hannibal Lecter fell to the strained muscles of the throat below him; his grip wondered there. His thumb and forefinger massage hot circles against the flesh of his neck, searching for a pulse.

'This will pass."

The statement sounded muddled to Will's fragile senses.

"I do care," he finds himself repeating.

His mongoose is exquisite.

He feels the slight rise and fall of the chest pressed beneath his own; he indulges his urge to taste the delicate prey pinned against him. He bites, wishing to _hear_ him once more, but there is nothing.

The divine blood that stains his teeth will wash away. The taste will fade.

The dull ache returns to gnaw away at him – to pang at nothing, because he is empty once again.

Will Graham is consumed by an unnatural darkness.

Hannibal Lecter longs to revive lost illumination.


End file.
